


My heart is like paper, yours is like a flame

by Death2Toby



Series: The "Infinity War Never Ever Happens and Steve and Bucky Get To Recover Verse" [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, How Do I Tag, M/M, Post-Black Panther (2018), So is Bucky, Steve is doing his best, there is hair cutting involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 04:30:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14742017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Death2Toby/pseuds/Death2Toby
Summary: In which, as it turns out, Bucky is not totally fixed after leaving Wakanda and he has some shit to deal with.





	My heart is like paper, yours is like a flame

It’s not the first time Steve has woken up to a concerning empty space beside him. In fact, it had been a rough couple months since he and Bucky had been reunited. Bucky rarely slept through the night. Sometimes Steve would find him at the kitchen island, staring, or pretending to read a book. “Just couldn’t sleep,” he would say, a smile on his lips that was betrayed by his eyes. Occasionally he could be found sitting in the shower letting his skin redden in the scalding water. The worst nights were the flashback nights, Bucky curled helplessly in some corner of the apartment, screaming to drown out the noise in his head, Steve trying to just hold him until it passed. Of course, all of these were preferable to Steve’s true fear, that he would look only to find that Bucky was gone again. 

He takes a deep, albeit shaky breath and sits up to begin the search. His footsteps are deliberately heavy, he’d learned after one particularly rough night that it was very unwise to sneak up on Bucky, even accidentally. A sigh of relief escapes involuntarily when Steve opens the bedroom door to see light creeping into the hall from the bathroom, but he holds his breath again as he opens the door. 

Tufts of dark brown hair litter the tile and Steve’s eyes follow the abstract trail to find Bucky’s bare feet. He has to peer around the door to see the rest of him. Bucky is sitting against the tub, knees drawn to his chest. His head lifts minutely from its resting place on his forearms when he hears the creak of the door, but his eyes, red-rimmed and puffy, stare straight forward. His hair is choppy and uneven, sticking out in all directions, cut alarmingly close to the scalp in some places.

“Oh, Buck,” Steve says, softly. It’s not pity, it’s just sorrow, worry. He crouches down and places his hand firmly over Bucky’s. 

Bucky mumbles without meeting Steve’s eyes. “I didn’t want to look like him anymore.” 

Not for the first time, Steve is at a loss for words, so he leans in and wraps the other man tightly in his arms. He wants to cry, but he can't let himself, not now. Bucky’s head leans into Steve’s chest and he closes his eyes when Steve places a kiss into his hair. 

The two are silent for a while. Bucky’s shaking slightly and trying to take deep breaths, while Steve tries to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to do. He knew better than to think that bringing Bucky home would be easy, but he didn’t think it would be this fucking hard. And for all they’d been through together, nothing could have prepared him for this. His fists are useless here, and it feels as though all of the fierce love he has been holding onto for so long is useless too. 

He’d meant what he said back in Wakanda. If Bucky could do better without him, then so be it. But it hurt so bad to even consider. And he knows none of that matters right now. This isn’t about him and it shouldn’t be. But he is only human, despite all evidence that suggests otherwise, and so he wants. He wants to be loved, to be enough, and, maybe selfishly, he wants to save Bucky, to make up for all the times he’s failed him in the past. And he wants to believe he’s trying his best, but Bucky won’t even talk to him, won’t let him in. Steve hopes that doesn’t mean he wants to leave. 

Finally, Steve leans back, examining Bucky’s features again, fingers running delicately over his scalp.

“Doesn’t look too good,” Bucky says matter-of-factly. “Sorry.” 

And that hurts, because Steve doesn’t want Bucky to care about how any of this makes him feel, or maybe he does but he knows he shouldn’t. “Don’t apologize,” he says, a little too sweetly, so that it can’t possibly be interpreted as an order. “Can you stand up?” 

Bucky unravels himself as Steve stands easily, reaching down to help him. They face each other and Bucky finally looks Steve in the eye and he looks more scared than Steve’s ever seen him. 

“Do you want me to try and fix it,” Steve offers gently.

“You’re an artist, not a barber,” Bucky replies, managing a broken version of his familiar wry smile. 

“Hey, it’s close enough, right,” Steve replies, leaving to fetch a chair from the kitchen. He brings it back and Bucky sits down facing away from the mirror. Steve crouches down, opening the cabinet for the clippers. 

“Wait,” Bucky says urgently, and he doesn’t have to say more. It’s the noise, Steve reckons, it triggers something. Otherwise Bucky probably would have just shaved all his hair off. Steve grabs the scissors instead. 

Steve combs his fingers gently through Bucky’s hair, staring at it much like he would a blank canvas. And, as he often did, he decided to begin without much of an idea for the end product. Frankly, he couldn’t make it any worse. 

The snipping sound seems soothing to both of them, and Steve feels Bucky leaning into his gentle touch, so he takes his time, allowing them both to savor this moment of peace because who in the hell knew what was coming next? 

But there’s a knot in Steve’s stomach getting tighter and tighter with anxiety and suddenly he can’t stand the silence anymore. “Can I ask you a question?” 

Bucky jumps slightly at the unexpected sound of Steve’s voice, but his reply is even. “Okay.” 

“I love you,” Steve says, sort of desperately, like it’s a confession. 

“That’s not a question.” 

“I know, I just… Bucky, are you,” Steve’s throat seems to constrict so he clears it. He takes a second to trim a bit more of Bucky’s hair as though they’re two strangers having a casual chat in a barbershop. He forces himself to continue. “Are you going to leave again?” 

“No.” The answer comes without hesitation but it does little to quell Steve’s worry. 

A couple snips later, Steve speaks again. “I just want to know what you want, what you need, and I guess… I guess whether I’m it.”

There’s no answer and Steve has to force his eyes skyward to stop tears from spilling over. He always thought that he knew Bucky, that there were no secrets between them, that they knew how to care for each other. Maybe Bucky would have been better off staying in Wakanda. 

“Finished,” Steve finally says, sounding not at all like himself. 

Bucky stands and turns, looking at himself in the mirror, turning and tilting to see all angles. One corner of his mouth turns up for a moment, but he can’t keep it there for long. “Thanks,” he says, and turns toward Steve again. “I’m scared, Steve.” 

“Of what?” 

“I’m scared things won’t ever be the same.” 

“I wish I could tell you different,” Steve says honestly, glancing down. 

“The thing is, I know I’m right. And I just have to figure out how to deal with that.” Bucky puts his hands on either side of Steve’s face, and speaks seriously. “You can’t fix this Steve, but if you think that means I don’t want to be with you, need to be, I mean,” he trails off, shaking his head, before meeting Steve’s eyes again. “I don’t want to wake up if I’m not next to you, Stevie.” 

Steve smiles for a moment, and puts his hands over Bucky’s. “It’s really hard for me when you don't talk to me. Maybe I won’t always know the right thing to say, but I don’t like when you pretend.” 

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

“You’re apologizing again.” 

“Sorry,” Bucky replies, with a sardonic grin so very much his, though it’s a little different than it used to be.

Steve pulls him in for a hug, thankful that he doesn’t have to worry about squeezing too tight. A few tears escape, falling in droplets onto Bucky’s t-shirt. “I love you so much. That’s never changed, and it never will.” 

Bucky squeezes right back. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Such a Simple Thing" by Ray LaMontagne. This fic was originally inspired by it but it kind of took on a life of it's own. Also I may have stolen a like from a song by the Weeknd.


End file.
